


Separate Ways

by TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsLazuli



Series: Steven Universe Alternate Timeline 1 [1]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crystal Gems (Steven Universe), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsLazuli/pseuds/TheArtistFormerlyKnownAsLazuli
Summary: The Second Gem War came and went, leaving Earth victorious but forever changed by the war. The Crystal Gems disband and leave Beach City in self-exile, Steven Universe among them. Ten years later, Connie Maheswaren, a veteran of the war, now suffering from PTSD, sets out to bring them all home. Rated M for heavy themes (violence, mental health, addiction, ect) and language. Alternate universe that goes way into the future, but immediately follows the events of "That will be all."
Series: Steven Universe Alternate Timeline 1 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700725
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. A New Life

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My name is Lazuli and this will be my very first entry on this website. I am not familiar with this website's features or it's ettiquette, so forgive me if I make a few mistakes here and there. First, a few things about my story;  
> This is a remaster of a story I wrote in 2016, and a good amount of people liked it. The original story, as well as this story, can also be found on my fanfiction.net account, which is under my same name as this site.  
> This story takes place in an alternate universe of Steven Universe. It takes place years into the future, but the world in which this story starts takes place following the events of "That will be all." Just saying.  
> Oh and one more thing. I can write. Like, really well. I've been writing for my entire natural life, so trust me when I say, this story isn't written by some amateur super fan, and I assure you, this story is unlike anything you've ever read.  
> ONE LAST THING!!! This is the first story in a trilogy, so stick around for my future projects. I promise you won't be disappointed.  
> With that being said, enjoy my story.

The first step towards getting somewhere is to decide you're not going to stay where you are."

—J.P Morgan

*****************************************************************************************

Now.

It envelopes all her senses.

Sight. She sees the sand erupting in sharp showers as explosions rock the world around her and bullets and laser bolts alike pepper the ground.

Smell. The heavy scent of cooked and burned meat sticks to her nose. Wait. That's not burning meat. It's burning flesh.

Touch. She grips her alien sword tightly, too tight, it draws blood on her hands. Death is quick if she lets go, loses her balance, drops her weapon, her life.

Taste. There's blood in her mouth. She isn't sure if it's hers.

Sound, if you could call the continuous drone of gunfire and cries of pain circling her sound.

But there's something more. But there's nothing more.

She can't remember her name. She doesn't know what city she's in or why she's fighting or even who's winning.

Instead, she knows only one thing.

She's going to die.

*****************************************************************************************

The alarm clock woke her up.

She jumped to her feet and brought the sword down on the poor electric clock, cutting it, as well as the nightstand holding in, clean in half. The blaring noise was gone, and so was her fear.

"Damnit," she says to herself, looking at the mess she made. "Every time, swear to God."

She set her sword down on the bed, reminding herself for the umpteenth time to stop sleeping with it, and fetched the broom and dustpan next to her bed before clearing the shattered bits of the clock and dumping it in the wastebasket by the foot of her bed. She then turned her attention to the short and now two-piece nightstand that sat there. After pondering on how to take care of it, she gave up and went down the stairs from her open room and headed to the kitchen to make her breakfast. On the door of the refrigerator was a yellow sticky note, written on in a kind of chicken scratch only decipherable to her, reminding her of her job interview that morning.

Falling Star Hospice and Retirement home. A new start for herself. A place that posed as a regular old retirement home. People usually didn't think much of retirement homes, but this wasn't just some place where young families abandoned their broken down parents, or a place where old people went to die. She knew exactly what it was, unlike most, and that's exactly why she wanted to work there. A fresh start indeed, and not just for herself.

She looked at the clock on the microwave in her kitchen. Seven thirty five. She had just over an hour to get to her interview. Having already gotten her outfit ready, she decided she had enough time to make herself some eggs. Today was a big day for her, a special breakfast beyond her usual bowl of cereal. She made them sunnyside up, her favorite style of eggs, and ate them along with some strawberry jam on toast and orange juice. The meal was a favorite from her teen years. A very special meal made from a very special person who used to be in her life; eating food from good memories gave her good feelings. A rare occasion for her these days. She finished her breakfast and hopped into the shower. She paid no attention to the faint scar on her midsection halfway down her stomach. It was smaller than what it used to be. Ten years does a lot to the body. That scar is living proof of that old saying people say; time heals all wounds.

Physical ones, that is.

She wasn't sure what to wear to her interview. After skimming her catalogue of what could be considered elegant attire, she settled on a pair of dress jeans, a polo shirt and her old but well taken care of lab coat. It was a gift from her mother, a memento of her mother's time as a doctor in the old days. Wearing it felt safe, making her feel like she was on her way to save lives. In a way, that's what she was going to do at the hospice, right? Given the job she was being interviewed for, it seemed

(You won't find what you're looking for)

rather appropriate, so she threw it on as she grabbed her phone, set of keys and walked out the door. She got into her van with the colorful space art and words Mr. Universe painted on both sides, started up, and made her way to her hopeful career for the rest of her life.

It was different from when she was a kid. She never lived in Beach City then, but she visited enough to know where everything was and who all lived here. There was Funland, the city's amusement park and one real tourist attraction, run by Mr. Smiley. On the boardwalk, lines and lines of restaurants, gift shops and every kind of store known to man. It really was a wonderful place with a lot of wonderful people

(most of those wonderful people are dead)

who were tight-knit and kind to all. Whether you were a member of the community or a stranger from out-of-town, you were greeted with a sense of friendship and community. It was Delmarva's hidden gem in the middle of nowhere and you were blessed to come to this place.

In the middle of nowhere. It was her home now, and it was everything to her.

Now the little community town was different. That feeling of friendship was there, but the once-small town had expanded considerable. New housing areas, larger stores and companies had been built there in the last decade. It wasn't as big as New York City or Empire City by any means, more like Boston or Kalamazoo up north, and it was now a completely different town. There were also more monuments, more museums and historical sites, as well as a larger, more diverse populace. She could say she was a reason for the changes that came to her new home, primarily the historical bits. To the year-round flow of tourists that visited, the monuments and dedications were an interesting but distant part of history, but the natives of Beach City knew the truth. To them, the history attractions were a testament to their own lives; all of it was telling their story, their own past, one that had gone through terror and love and lost, but above all, it told the story of their perseverance through their struggles. Something of epic proportions happened here, and no tourist could truly understand what transpired in this little dot on the map called Beach City.

She knew they were there, but she couldn't bring herself to look at any of the monuments on her way to her interview. She rejected their very existence.

"I'm here for an interview with Doctor Clark," she stated.

The receptionist, a white woman in her twenties, looked up from her computer screen.

"Doctor Clark is down that hall, third door on the left." She pointed down the hall she referred to. "It's the one that's open."

"Thank you very much." She took a few steps away before the receptionist spoke again.

"It's really you, isn't it?"

She stopped dead in her tracks. Shit. Turned back to the receptionist. "Yes. It's me."

The receptionist looked starstruck. "I knew it! You're—"

She patiently held a hand up. "Please, no names. I know who I am, you know who I am, we both know who I am. It's a personal thing, it's not you."

The receptionist looked confused, but she was still in disbelief of who was currently speaking to her. "O-okay then, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

She quickly cut in, trying to make sure this young woman didn't beat herself up over it. "No no, you didn't offend me, I promise." She looked at the receptionist's name tag. "Jan, I have a feeling we'll be working together pretty soon, and if that happens, I'll need to get some kind of nickname, I guess. But let's not worry about it until after my interview, okay?" As much as she appreciated this girl's respect, she absolutely hated when people called her by her name. She hadn't heard her name by any sane means in years, responding to it only when absolutely necessary. The natives and some of the newer occupants of Beach City understood, but for those few who weren't in the loop, mostly tourists and strangers, she had to make her wishes clear. Her reputation preceded her; anyone who knew who she was personally or heard of her notoriety respected her request.

"I guess that's okay," a cautious Jan said, then with a genuine smile wished her luck with her interview, to which she thanked her for, and went on her way.

As she walked to her interview, Jan made sure the coast was clear, went under her desk with her cell phone, and shot a quick text to her boyfriend.

You'll never know who's applying for a job right where I work.

*****************************************************************************************

"You've made it very clear you don't want me to say your name."

His name was Doctor David Clark. He was a caucasian man in his forties, with a receding hairline, blue eyes and a white coat matching hers. His smile was warm; she could tell that he was a kind, laid-back person, and he was definitely enamoured with the woman sitting across from her. He himself was a friendly face, but his office didn't match his personality; the walls were pale green, book shelves of different sizes were placed around the room in several spots, filled to the brim with countless books of seemingly impossible thickness. The chair she sat in felt constricting, like she didn't fit in it. Like she was out of place.

Another thing that unnerved her was the painting behind David. It was high on the wall so it towered above them, and with a recognition so uncomfortably fast, she identified the painting; Picasso's "Guernica", his famous war mural. It was a remarkable piece, she felt as much even as a bookish teen girl, but it invoked a new meaning in her these days. It shared too many parallels with her own experiences. She looked at the woman cradling her dead child, the dead soldier with his flower and broken sword, and found eerie similarities in her past. Even in that damned bull, deformed as it was, she found some relation to herself in some way.

"That's true," she said, not noticing her repeated gripping and releasing of the arms of her chair.

David cleared her throat and read through the application that she sent in. "Given your reputation, and all the good you've done for this town community, I'd say that's something I can abide by.' Without looking up he asked, "What should we call you then?"

She shrugged. "Was hoping you could help me with that. If I got the job, that is."

He brought his eyes from the application. "Of course you got the job, it's you we're talking about. To be honest, I doubt there'd be anyone else better suited for the job. Are you a fan of Stephen King?"

She smiled. "Anyone who appreciates real storytelling is a fan of Stephen King."

David let out a hearty chuckle. "Would you mind if I call you Nadine, then?"

She was surprised yet intrigued in the character name he chose. "Nadine Cross from The Stand? Any particular reason you went with her?"

"Are you going to tell me why you don't like being called by your legal name?"

"Nope."

He nodded. "Seems to me, you've got your fair share of secrets. Nadine had her own, so it's only appropriate. Unless…" he suddenly changed. He leaned across his desk, closer to her, and his friendly smile dissipated into a look of seriousness and curiosity.

"...You'd like to share some of those secrets with me, hmm?"

She sank back, deeper into her chair, pangs of fear in her core. "What?"

He lingered that way for a second, then let out a mighty fit of laughter that seemed to shake the room.

"I'm just kidding!" His gentle demeanor from earlier had returned, and she was put at ease. "God, it gets them every time!" He resumed his laughing, and stopped to clarify when he saw her confused face.

"I used to be a boxer in my high school days," he explained with pride in his words. "I was good, but the other guys I sparred with were typically better, so I had to figure out some way to get a leg-up on them. I watched a lot of boxers on TV and a bunch of war movies, and all I did was just study the angry and intense looks these boxers and actors would have on their faces, and eventually I developed my own set of faces to try out on my opponents. I had a lot of masks I'd wear, and I'd choose a different one to wear for every one of my matches, y'know, to get into his head. Worked every time, and I won damn near every one of my matches. Called me The Mask, like that Jim Carey movie. Cool, right?"

"Yes, very cool," she said, though something about his story put her off, but she couldn't figure out why, so she dismissed it. "I didn't realize my potential boss was so famous."

"Oh stop," but the bashful smile on his face said otherwise. "Anyway Nadine, I think you'll make a fine edition here at Falling Star. You start Monday. Welcome aboard!"

They sealed their business with a handshake, and she was on her way out when he said one more thing.

"Connie—" he scolded himself. "Shit, I'm sorry, got to get used to Nadine. I know who you are, your history. It's no secret why I hired you at my hospice." He paused for a moment before saying

(Don't say it don't say it don't you fucking say it)

"Thank you for your service."

Behind her face, she was internally screaming in anger, crying in anguish and wishing David would fall out of existence, but she gave him her very own mask for this fight; a considerate smile, her prepared automatic response of "It was my pleasure," and walked out, grateful for the new chapter of her life before her.


	2. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Took a little longer than I wanted, but I told you guys I'm writing every day! I got stuck a couple times, so I made sure that I took my time with this chapter so it didn't seem rush or lacking in any way. Now, a really quick note before you begin reading;
> 
> This entire story was first created during a hiatus between SU episodes in 2017. Since the show has changed so much in the time since then, I have to say that this story doesn't follow really anything from the show's canon (except a few special instances, albeit brief). I'll clarify a lot more in my next story in this universe when the time comes. Let's just say this universe takes place immediately following the episode "That will be all." Just saying.
> 
> With that out of the way, let's get right into it. Enjoy!

""We need help, the poet reckoned."" Tis true, help we do need, but tis not the help I question, but who it comes from and what their true motifs are."

—Edward Dorn

* * *

" _Shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me. Shoot me."_ John Lennon whispered through the bluetooth speaker on the counter while she was washing the dishes. Once the next verse came, she joined in on the singing.

"Here come old flat top, he come grooving up slowly, he got joo joo eyeball, he one holy roller, he got hair down to his knees...got to be a joker, he just do what he please." She could sing really well, so she's been told by a lot of different people in her day. That was a long time ago, though. No one heard her sing anymore, she didn't have visitors. Last time she had people over, it ended in disaster. They all left, and she never heard from them again.

"Come together," she sang, "right now...over me."

Was she doing it right? Would Pearl approve of how she did the dishes? Or would she shout at her for doing it in the "wrong order" like she always did?

" _No no no! How many times have I told you, silverware first! Then cups, bowls and the pots and pans last!"_

" _I'm sorry, ma'am! I just thought—"_

" _Don't lie to me! You weren't thinking, you couldn't have been! Move. I'll do them myself."_

" _Fine! You do it then!_ Then with hesitation, she added _It's all you Pearls are good for, anyway!"_

That didn't end well. She's regretted her words ever since. Ever since then, she made a point to do it exactly as Pearl as instructed. It was her way of keeping her former mentor here with her still. It was hard living in the same house

_(You couldn't keep them together. You failed them all)_

where her friends and family lived. The war took a toll on them all, but one thing they lost was their patience for each other. Before the war, if anyone had a hard time with something, they had everyone there to help them through it. Afterwards, they just fought instead of working through their problems. Makes sense really, the one person who would help them the most just left. For reasons that never reached her understanding, he couldn't be in Beach City anymore. He couldn't even give her an honest answer why. Even his goodbye was shitty.

_I'm sorry. I can't be with you. I have to go._

Good riddance, motherfucker.

She finished up the dishes, turned off the speaker spitting out Beatles lyrics. _All done, Pearl. Did I make you happy?_ She didn't really care. Even if she did every dish just like she asked, Pearl would never come home. None of them would.

Why did he leave? She could care less why _they_ left, she was there for that part. But why did _he_ leave? He didn't even know how bad things were for her. She knew exactly what she had, it had a medical term and everything, but did he know? He had to. They all had it to one degree or another, that's the interesting thing about humans and gems; they were each a completely different species, but they had as many similarities as they had differences. Sure, one could live thousands of years while the other had a much shorter lifespan, and maybe a few physical deviations and abilities, but take away all that and gems are basically people. You'd think that with all their powers and wisdom from literal centuries of experience that they'd be more in touch with their emotions and smarter in their actions. She knew better. They could fight entire intergalactic wars and come out somewhat alright, but God forbid if _one_ difference of opinion with another, or if a teenage girl doesn't do the dishes in the _right way._

There were times she wished they would all disappear. They'd fight over the smallest of things day after day, it seemed like they were doing it for sport, like whoever would storm off first would lose and whoever left standing was the victor. Last man standing.

Last man standing. How ironic. They traded one version of that game for another. At least one kept you alive. Ironic, indeed.

She was no different. The daily arguments and bickering and pettiness were Hell for her, especially given her own issues she got from the war, and she prayed—literally got down on her knees and _prayed_ (to who, she had no clue, as she denied Him as He denied her)—that they would all just disappear somehow, vanish into thin air, be snapped into dust and be blown away in the wind like what that one purple guy did with his special glove, and then she'd be free. Now she would do absolutely anything to have them back. This house was the birthplace of so many good memories, it shouldn't be this empty and quiet. She thought the constant clamor of their arguments was unbearable, but the endless silence was a hundred times worse. It was driving her mad (she was already mad, she knew it. To be more accurate, it was dragging her _deeper_ into madness). She traded a Loud Hell for a Silent one. The irony seemed to continue.

A thought came to her, one she had often but was never prepared to answer; what if Steven came home one day? That was easily her greatest fear. What if he just showed up at her door out of the blue? He'd be looking for his family, the gems, and he would have questions that she would have no answers. She wouldn't even have a good enough excuse for him, and then there would be what she was afraid of. Sadness, confusion and surprise most definitely, but most certainly, disappointment. Disappointment leads to judgement and judgement leads to anger. She'd never truly upset him

_(There's a reason he shut you out. There's a reason he cut the connection)_

but she knew that would change and there was no telling what he'd do to her. She didn't have a clue, but her nightmares had an idea. But that's for another time.

Time. She looked at the microwave clock. Ten after nine. She might as well call it a night, she had her first day of work in a few days. She went to turn off the single light illuminating both the entire kitchen and living room

_(Why does it look so much like an eye?)_

and went to the bathroom for a shower. While she disrobed and started the shower, she stopped and looked at herself in the mirror. It had been a good while since she had done that. It was bizarre for her to remember what she looked like when she felt normal. It had to be when she was thirteen, so twenty four years ago. She had so many different problems with herself at the time that took over her world that seemed so silly and insignificant now. At that time she worried about when her boobs would grow in, she'd squeeze her flat chest together to make them look bigger, fearing that she'd be flat as an ironing board for the rest of her life. Now her breasts were fully developed C-cups, boasting proudly from her chest, which she would have been happy to have had if she still cared. In her youth, she was frail and not a very physically fit person per se, and now she had muscle that was strong but toned, so even though she was much more agile and fit than she was at the time, she still retained her original body type, thin and petite. She was a woman now, though she never really thought about it these days, it just wasn't important. That scar above her navel was her proof.

Her hair was no different, though maybe it was a little shorter, just past her shoulders. Even in her loneliest days, she loved her thick black hair. It was a connection to her Indian heritage, and more importantly, to her parents. It reminded her of her mother. She missed her. She mentally kicked herself for not visiting her more often. Her father, too.

Of the many beautiful and terrible and important things she knew, among them was what she looked like. She was beautiful. It wasn't a thought born of egocentrism, she knew most people found her easy on the eyes, she just saw no benefit in it. Who was she trying to impress? She had makeup but no need for it. She showered, washed her face, brushed her hair every day, and that was it. She'd be breathtaking if her face wasn't always showing a look of indifference or completely devoid of expression. That wasn't quite how she felt, she always felt something. She just lost her ability to express how she felt, a learned memento of her fighting days. It wasn't exactly a mask she was wearing, either; she simply didn't _need_ to bring emotion to her face. Why should she?

When she couldn't stand to look at her shell anymore, she stepped into the shower and was instantly met with the relief of hot water enveloping her tired body. She closed her eyes and let herself be lost in the shower's warm embrace. It was one of her last safe places in the world. As the water cascaded down her brown skin, a daydream formed in her mind, one that came to her often. Warm arms wrapping around her from behind, pulling her in, comforting her, his head resting in the crook of her neck. An unconscious, genuine grin formed on her face.

The nightmares couldn't get her here.

* * *

" _What do you want to do with your life, Connie?"_

_The question had come from her mother. It was the morning of Connie's thirteenth birthday. Connie hadn't even gotten out of bed when her mother asked her question._

" _What?" Connie inquired. She wasn't expecting this._

_The woman in question was rummaging through Connie's closet, looking for something presentable for her daughter's big day presumably, and she didn't turn around when she spoke._

" _Have you decided on what your college major will be in?"_

" _College!? I haven't even finished middle school! Why would I be thinking about college?"_

 _Priyanka sighed, a clear sign of her classic disappointment, making Connie shrink under her covers. "Connie, when I was your age, I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to go into the medical field, what colleges had the best programs to suit my interests, and what AP classes I needed to take in high school to get on track early. Do you mean to tell me that you have_ no _clue as to what you want to do with your life?"_

" _Well...I mean, I have_ one _thing…" Connie began, but she was startled when her mother whirled around and practically jumped into bed with her._

" _What is it?" Her mother was uncharacteristically excited, almost giddy smiling from ear to ear. "Go on, tell me what it is!"_

_Feeling more confident in herself, Connie said "I want to pursue a career in space exploration!"_

_The look of happiness in Priyanka's face dispersed almost immediately. She walked away and slumped against the wall on the other side of her room, her hand to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose. She didn't take it well._

" _Mom? What's wrong?" Connie braved. "I thought you'd be happy. Space exploration is a very distinguished career—"_

" _Yes yes, I'm aware." She couldn't bring her eyes to meet her daughter's. "Normally I'd be very happy with your career choice...if I didn't know_ why _that was your choice."_

_Connie's face went hot. Her mother was right of course, but she didn't want to admit it, even to herself. How did she know? "Mother, what do you mean? Space has always interested me—"_

" _No,_ he _has always interested you." Priyanka crossed her arms, a visual dare for the girl to deny it._

_Connie still tried to deflect it, to work around her mother's accusation. "It's not just Steven! The gems are the reason to begin with. They're literal aliens, and I want to do whatever I can to show the world that there's a whole universe out there, waiting to be discovered!"_

_Priyanka sighed. "Connie, I've seen your library book check-outs. You knew about...them...before you met these Crystal Gem. They're all throughout history, they just don't come around much these days. Not since the World War."_

" _Cause they're afraid! There aren't many of them on Earth to begin with, and we kind of turned on them at one point. Think about it, mother. I'm really the only human outside of Beach City who has interacted with them. I could help bring our planets together!"_

" _You aren't being realistic," her mother spat._

" _And you aren't listening to me!"_

_Connie immediately shut her mouth, while Priyanka's fell open. Connie never raised her voice to her mother, and now fear gripped her tight like the covers she hid under._

_But instead of yelling at her or grounded her with that stupid abacus again, her mother smiled and came over, sitting down next to her._

" _That's enough for now," she said with a sweet smile. She didn't even seem angry. "We don't need to worry about this right now. Today's your big day. I'm sorry, sweetie." She leaned in and kissed Connie on her head._

_Connie wasn't expecting the sudden change of behavior, but she was happy with her mother's gesture and returned it with a warm hug. "I'm sorry, too. For raising my voice."_

_Priyanka chortled. "It's okay." She looked back over to Connie's closet. "Say, you have some nice clothes, but...none of them seem good enough for today."_

_Connie's happiness faltered. "What do you mean?"_

" _It's just...none of them seem to be right for a beautiful, bright young woman like my daughter." Priyanka playfully tapped her chin, pretending to ponder the situation before giving her a knowing look. "How about we go look for a new dress before your party?"_

_Connie was ecstatic. She jumped from her bed into her mother's open arms. "Oh, mom! Thank you thank you thank you so much!"_

" _Anything for my favorite daughter," Priyanka whispered in her ear before releasing her from the hug. "But we have to be quick. Steven and his family should be her soon. Hop into the shower and get ready for the day fast if you want to be here when they get here."_

" _Yes ma'am!" Connie leapt to her feet and dashed to her closet for a pair of clothes._

_Priyanka made her way to the door, and before she stepped out, said "I love you, Connie."_

_Connie smiled and gave her a little wave. "Love you too, mom!"_

* * *

When she woke up the next morning, she felt happy. She couldn't figure out why, but for some reason she woke up and for the first time in years, she was looking forward to the day. She had no plans, she didn't start work for another two days, and since she was rich with no financial issues whatsoever, she took it upon herself to do something with her time other than fall into visions or sleep to avoid them. It was a bright, sunny day, the perfect weather for a picnic.

She inspected the contents of her refrigerator. It was fully restocked with foods and beverages. It seems Carlos, her grocery guy, had stopped by sometime during her afternoon nap the day prior. Being the recluse she was, she had hired him to pick up all her grocery store needs so she never had to leave the house. They had known each other for years, but it didn't bother her that she didn't know a single thing about the guy. Being close meant being vulnerable. No thanks. She grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and grape jelly

( _I wonder if he still eats jelly)_

then fetched a loaf of bread, peanut butter (as well as butter knives for the sandwich), a big bag of Doritos and a red solo cup from the cabinets. She threw the contents, as well as a paper plate and napkins into a canvas bag she had and made her way to the door, bag in one hand and the pitcher in hand, not even bothering to change out of her pajamas. She took two steps outside and her chest was quick to alert her that the sunshine was there but the warmth certainly was not.

"Oh _fuck that_ ," she declared, and quickly retreated before coming back out wearing her hospital coat. Now dressed appropriately for the occasion, she made way across the beach and up the hill behind the beach house/gem temple. There was a light breeze sweeping through, making the grass sing, the grass that was cool and felt so good on her bare feet. She felt at peace. She had slept nightmare-free and that was a blessing in its own right. It was a cause for some kind of celebration, and in this world that was monochrome nearly all the time in her eyes, a picnic was perfect.

She made it to the top of the hill, where a small, abandoned structure that was just big enough to not be considered a shack, branched off to the side hanging off the cliff edge, and right next to it, a large tombstone. There used to be a white picket fence, she remembered when it was new

_(You wanted to kiss him. Things would've been better if you had just kissed him then.)_

but it was destroyed to make room for the artillery guns. They were pretty big guns. She set her bag down and began setting up her picnic when she looked over to the tombstone, just a few feet away. There was a name engraved in it, and next to it, some other text, but she didn't need it. She knew who was buried there.

"Hey, Mr. Universe," she said nonchalantly as she emptied her bag. She wasn't surprised when she got a reply.

"Hi, Connie." He sounded just like he did when he was alive. "Whatcha got, there?"

"Just having a picnic. It's a beautiful day, thought I'd might do something with it." All the items she grabbed before coming out here were spread out on the ground, but something was missing.

"I see. It's good you're out here, it's high-time you got out more. Being cooped in that house is messing with your mind."

Connie couldn't help but let out an actual laugh at that. "Can't argue with that." For the first time during the conversation, she looked at the tombstone. Greg Universe sat cross-legged on the space where he was buried, looking very much alive. He had that sweet, goofy smile he had on his face whenever she was around, a trait he passed on to his only son.

"You seem lost," he noted. "What's wrong?"

"I think I forgot something," she said, surveying her haul. "I just don't know what."

Greg went "Ah. There's a lot you've forgotten, isn't there?" He sounded sad.

"What?"

"Nothing." He leaned in a bit. "You sure you got everything?"

"I think. I got everything for the sandwiches. A plate, pitcher of lemonade with a cup for it—"

"A blanket?" Greg offered.

She snapped her fingers. "A blanket! That's it. Thanks, Mr. Universe!"

"No problem, kiddo," Greg said with a thumbs-up as she rose.

She started walking down when she stopped. At the very bottom of the hill, she saw a figure standing there. She saw as he raised his hand and gave a little wave to her. Her heart fell. She knew who it was.

"Who's that?" Greg asked from behind her.

She sighed. "Someone I really don't want to deal with right now."

"Yeesh. Well, good luck with that."

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Of course. What is it, Connie?"

She turned to him. "Are you real?"

Greg lowered his voice, his smile going flat. "Do you care?"

She turned back to look at the figure. "Not really. I've got a visitor. See you later Greg."

As she went off, she noticed that Greg hadn't replied. She wasn't surprised.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" She was right to the point. She wasn't happy to see him, and she made that perfectly clear.

He shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood."

"My ass. I thought we had an understanding. If you were ever to show up here again—"

"There's a high probability that you'd kick my ass I know." He held his hands up in surrender, though his calm expression suggested he wasn't concerned either way.

She sighed and crossed her arms. "What do you want, Soren?"

"Well…" Soren looked past her to where she was at when he arrived. "I was wondering if I could join you."

"You want another sandwich?" She offered after making herself a second PB n' J.

"No thank you, I'm full."

"Suit yourself. Why are you here?" She took a bite of her sandwich.

Soren cleared this throat awkwardly. It was clear how uncomfortable he was. "I just had a feeling."

"You've always got a feeling," she said bitterly. "It's gotten people into trouble, your feelings."

"This one's different. Is he still closed off to you?" he asked.

She wasn't in the mood to tell him _anything,_ but she also knew there was no point in lying. Soren meant nothing to her, anyhow. She nodded.

Soren took a deep breath and ran his hands through his shoulder-length brown hair

_(He dyed his hair. Since when does Soren hide himself like that?)_

And looked at her with caution in his piercing yellow eyes. "He's reopened the connection for me and him."

She froze. The bolus of her food in her mouth felt like a stone when she swallowed. "What?"

"I know. It's weird, isn't it?" Soren questioned, It was then he glanced over at the tombstone, began reading it, then shook his head and returned back to her. "After all these years, why would he open up to me?"

"Yes." She rose, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists, anger coursing through her being. "After all these years, why would he open up to _you?_ "

Soren got to his feet as well, a bit uneasy by her reaction. He took a step back

_(Soren's afraid of me. Oh my God, Soren Spessartine is afraid of me. Damn right.)_

in obvious concern for his well-being and safety. "Connie…"

"Don't you call me that! You have no right to call me that, don't you fucking dare!" She was seething. Her monochrome world was now a deep shade of crimson. She took a step towards him.

"Why did he open up to you! Of all people, _of all people,_ he chose _you_. You're a murderer! A cold-hearted killer!"

As careful as Soren was, he was getting upset, too. "You listen here—"

"You're a fraud!" She wasn't finished. "You're nothing more than a shitty gem experiment that failed... _Commander Spessartine._ "

That was it for Soren. He let out a frustrated shout, which revealed a small gemstone the size of a medallion on his tongue, and from it summoned his scimitar _,_ his personal weapon from his war days. In his rage he dashed and held its tip mere centimeters from her throat.

"Oh, you wanna pull a blade on me again?" she asked, though it was more of a taunt than anything else. She whipped her hospital coat off and yanked her T-shirt up just below her breasts, exposing her belly, and in doing so, her scar. The very same scar that Soren had given her.

"Go ahead, do it!" Then for good measure, just to really get in his head, added "Finish the job! Don't fuck up this time!"

She knew she had him there. In the past Soren made it very clear how remorseful he was for his actions when he fought on Homeworld's side before defecting, and he'd done all he could to make up for it. He might have earned the trust of the rest of the Crystal Gems, including Steven, but never had he earned hers.

And with this in mind, Soren calmed himself down a bit. He sighed and brought the sword away from her before returning it to his gem.

"I'm sorry. I should have never pulled my weapon on you." There was real sincerity in his words and his ashamed expression. "I didn't come here to fight. I came here to talk."

Still not letting her shirt down, still revealing his past mistakes on her body, she asked "Why did Steven reopen his connection between you two?"

"He told me three things. The first thing he told me was to keep an eye on you."

"Well that's sweet,

_(If Steven really cared, he'd reach out to me instead of using this cocksucker as his personal message boy. The nerve.)_

but I don't need your help. I've been doing just fine on my own, thank you very much." It didn't sound convincing, even when she told herself that lie, but she figured it was a start

Soren shrugged. "That's a lie. I know cause he told me otherwise. His exact words— well, thoughts, I guess would be more accurate— were, "Keep an eye on Connie. She won't admit it to anyone, but she's in a terrible place. Which, given the company you keep…" He motioned towards the tombstone. "He may have a point."

She let her shirt fall, crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm fine. And don't call me that."

"Whatever. There was something else he said." He paused. "How long has it been since he left Beach City?"

She frowned. "Hold on." She began counting backwards, then forward, then scratched that and when backwards again.

"Let's see. The war started in two thousand seventeen, and it lasted for four years. That means it ended in twenty-one, and that was when Steven left. The gems left the same year…" Her mind went blank. "Soren, what year is it?"

Soren blinked. "What?"

"What year is it?"

He was struck with disbelief. "You don't even know what _year_ it is?"

"The fuck do I need to know the year for?" Just another thing that didn't matter to her.

"It's twenty thirty-one."

Wow. Time really flies when you're drowning in oblivion. "Huh. I guess that means it's been…" She stopped. "Ten years.

"Well, it's gonna stay at that."

She got curious. A little hopeful. "What do you mean?"

Soren straightened up. "He said he's on his way." He took an excited breath.

"Connie...Steven's coming home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you guys the chapters would get longer as the story progressed. There's a lot to unpack with this chapter, but I'll leave that up to you guys. Expect another chapter within a week's time. With that being said, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Be sure to drop a review for questions or comments, and if you liked what you just read, feel free to favorite this story and follow it for weekly chapters in the future. That's all from me, take care everybody. Lazuli out!


	3. Sola Fide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I understand that this chapter took longer to be uploaded, and I can assure you that it was necessary for doing so. This chapter is longer than the rest and kicks off the true beginning of the plot. I hope you enjoy!

"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage."

—Seneca the Younger  
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
"Good morning, Jan!"

Jan the receptionist nearly jumped out of her seat when she spoke, and didn't quite settle down when she saw who was greeting her.

"Oh, hi!" Jan said, trying to not show her fan-crazed excitement. "How are you today...umm…"

"Nadine," she said with a halfhearted smile. "Just call me Nadine."

"Nadine." Jan said it as if posing a statement. "Nadine. I can stick to that."

"I appreciate that. Is Doctor Clark in?"

"He is. So you got the job?"

She nodded.

"Great! I can't believe I'm working in the same building as…" she stopped herself before messing up. "...With Nadine. I'm working with Nadine."

She gave her a nod. "Glad to be here. Well, I'm gonna go see Doctor Clark."

"Of course!" Jan gave her a cheerful thumbs-up and flashed a truly ecstatic grin

(Is she a grown woman or a fucking pretween?)

that was way too much for eight in the morning. "Good luck on your first day!"

As she walked away, she wondered why talking to Jan filled her with so much hate and dread. Then she remembered why.

When was the last time I held a normal conversation? With a normal person? Who I wasn't trying to kill or be killed by?

It wasn't important. Who needs people skills when you've lost so many people, metaphorically and literally, as she had. Besides…

What the fuck is the point of being that chipper?

"I hope you don't have a problem doing janitorial duties around the hospice some days," David said, sitting in his chair, looking at his computer. "We only have a few on our payroll, so we get short-staffed sometimes."

She was back in her chair again, the same one she was in during her interview. Same chair, same feelings of dread and anxiety from talking to David and that damned Picasso piece looming over here. Like someone took a memory of hers and pinned it to the wall for the world to see.

"Not at all," she told him, even though she sure as dogshit didn't come to this hospice to mop floors for the rest of her life. "Is that what my first assignment is?"

David let out a chuckle. "Course not. In fact, I thought you'd like to choose what you do here."

"Really? I thought you just wanted someone to do laundry and talk to some of the patients here. My idea was that I'd have to be assigned tasks."

"Eh." David wiggled his hand in a "sorta" kind of gesture. "Things are different for your position. You're more general staff, but if I'm being honest, I hired you for the primary reason of speaking with our patients here. Specifically vets from the war. A majority of our in-house patients, as well as a few outside ones, served in the Gem War at one point or another." He smiled. "But you knew that already."

She nodded. "It's why I applied here."

"It's why I hired you," David commented, turning away from his computer and giving her his undivided attention. "I can get any random person to talk to the people here, but there's a difference between talking to someone and talking with them." He opened a drawer, pulled out a blue manilla folder and slid it across the desk.

"Here's the file on all the warhorses here. I might assign you certain patients if one becomes a higher priority over the others, but for now, choose who you'll be seeing today."

She took the folder and leafed through its contents. It was surprisingly thick, at least forty people catalogued in this folder. She knew a handful of people, either by name or by face recognition (the war took her to several fronts across the world, she met a lot of different people), but one jumped out at her and she made her decision right then. She took out the file and dropped it on David's desk.

"This one."

David glanced at the file she chose, smiled and looked back to his computer monitor. "Had a feeling you'd start with him. He's a native of Beach City, so I figured you'd know him."

Connie tried matching David's smile, doing everything in her power not to look at Guernica hanging over her. The Eye was on her again, she could see it in the flesh if she just looked up, but she couldn't. It never really left her, it was always there, sticking to the shadows or lurking around the corner, behind her, following her. It was there. Always.

"You can go see him now, I've got some important hospital work I have to get done."

"Doctor Clark, I can see the game of Solitaire on your glasses."

Without missing a beat, he took the hand that wasn't using his computer mouse and slapped his glasses off his face, dropping to the desk, all without looking away from the screen.

"What glasses?"

She couldn't help it. She chuckled a bit, then a fit of uncontrollable laughter erupted from her. She held her sides as she let the laughter run its course.

"Christ, Doctor! I haven't laughed like that in forever!" She left her chair and wiped a tear from her eye, feeling surprisingly refreshed and in a better mood than a few moments ago.

David presented her with another one of his warm smiles

(He's a really good guy. He reminds me of dad.)

and giggled a little as well. "Well I'll be here all week at the Falling Star Comedy Club. Be sure to tip your waitresses and grab a pint on the way out. That's all folks!"

As she left after gathering her folder, she felt pretty happy on their way to share war stories with an old friend. Maybe she was too harsh for thinking mean things about Jan before seeing Clark. As she went down the hall and past the reception center, where Jan was on the phone, she gave her a little wave. Jan, a big fan, waved back with excited vigor.

She reached the room she was looking for on the second level. Knocked on the door. She was excited. It was her first day. She was seeing someone she truly cared for, someone she hadn't seen in a long time. She already loved her job. She was starting to feel something like living again, something she hadn't felt in too long.

She just needed to figure out how she felt about Steven coming home.

A few days ago..

"Nope."

Soren frowned. Blinked a few times. Looked as confused as a platypus' body. 'What?"

"He's not coming home. Not here, at least."

"Con—" He stopped himself from making that mistake again. "I just told you the greatest news I could possibly give you, and you say no?" It was comical how funny his face contorted into disbelief.

She turned and started trekking up the hill back to her picnic, suddenly not in the mood to eat. Or speak. Or be outside.

"Wait!" Soren walked over to her, but she started a runner's jog. Soren matched this pace, and then without warning she launched into an all-out sprint uphill. She originally intended to get back to her picnic area, but as her destination got closer with every step, she soon turned her attention farther, to the edge of the cliff that wasn't occupied by the shack or the grave. The top of the cliff. The cliff.

She'd die upon impact. For a second too long, she wanted that. To just fall off over the edge, off the Earth, out of existence. She was already in Oblivion. Death wouldn't be much different. Ten feet. Eight. Six. Four…

She suddenly dug her heels into the ground, stopping at the very edge of the cliff. The toes of her slippers protrude over. She didn't stop of her own accord. She wanted to die right then and there, and it was taken from her.

Her hands clenched.

"Stars, Connie!" Soren exclaimed as he made it to her. "What on Earth is wrong with you? Why in God's name would you—" his words were lost when her fist collided with his face.

"Mwut!?" He held his face as he landed on his butt. Blood, maroon blood, trickled through his fingers.

"How dare you? You swore to never use your powers on me again! And you fucking did it! You fucking took the one thing I wanted"

"You were going to throw yourself over the cliff, Connie!" Soren jumped to his feet in aggravation. "What was I supposed to do, let you do it?"

"The probability was damn near a hundred percent." She crossed her arms over her chest. "You ruined that."

"I was saving your life," Soren shot back. "I don't care what your reasons are, killing yourself is never the option." With the hand that wasn't holding his bloodied mouth, he held his hand out, as if he expected her to take it.

"Conne, listen to me." He spoke through his hand. "Nothing has been easy for you since the war, I get it. I really do. The war wasn't easy for any of us, and having Steven and the gems leave you? I know they had their issues, but just leaving for no reason other than not being able to deal with their feelings? Not only was that just stupid, but they left you alone to fend for yourself. That was wrong, but I promise you that things will get better when Steven gets home. Please, just give him a chance. He needs help, too."

She knew that he was speaking the truth. A part of her somewhere deep within herself was a voice that was always there, worming its way into her conscience. She needs help. She doesn't want it. She does want it, desperately, but she didn't at the same time. What little remained of her pride balked at the thought of relying or confiding in someone to fix her problems. What good would it do, anyway? It's not like she could change the past. Everything had passed, but it still hurt her to her core.

Despite this, and the fact that she would never trust Soren, that she wanted nothing to do with society (excluding her job, which even that was difficult for her) ever again, and that she would never forgive Steven for leaving her regardless of how much she loved him, she heeded Soren's sentiments and calmed herself down.

After a few moments of silence, she looked at Soren's injured face. "That looks bad. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Soren looked like he had more pressing matters he wanted to get to, but he simply nodded and followed her back to the house. She didn't want to deal with everything he just said, not yet, at least. Best thing to do was take it one step at a time.

She knew there were many steps ahead of her.

The present…

She knocked on the door. She hoped he wasn't asleep.

"Yes?" A male voice came from behind the door. "Come on in."

Tentatively, she opened the door and came into the room. The occupant was on his bed on the other side of the room, looking through something on his cell phone. He was visible from the left side. It was clear that he wasn't aware of who had entered.

"Someone already picked up my laundry," he said absentmindedly, still looking at his phone. "I could use some food from the cafeteria, though."

She cleared her throat. "Buck Dewey."

He looked her way, revealing a black eyepatch with a yellow star in its center where his right eye should have been. His face grew an expression of surprise and recognition.

"Connie? Is that you?"

She smiled, warm feelings flooding her body. "It's me, Buck."

There was no hesitation. She met him halfway when he came in for a hug. They embraced each other and both, for a moment, felt a kind of safety in each other's arms that went deeper than friends, more intimate than lovers. They were survivors, comrade-in-arms. And that was a connection that could never falter.

"I haven't seen you in ages," Buck whispered in his ear.

"I never left," she whispered back. "I'm living in Steven's old house still."

"Ah. I should have guessed." They pulled out of the embrace and gave the other a look-over. "You look great!"

"Thanks," she giggled. "And you look…" She took notice of the faintest of wisps of gray in his somehow-perfect hair and wrinkles just beginning to take hold in his face. "Old!"

Buck playfully scoffed. "Not all of us can look as good as you, Miss Maheswaran. Especially when you got both your eyes!" He tapped his eyepatch leisurely.

They shared another laugh and Buck pulled up a plush chair next to the bed before sitting on his bed. "You got a minute?"

"Of course," she said as she took a seat. "It's why I came here."

They talked for hours, catching up on everything that had happened since the war. It was a bit funny that even though neither her, nor Buck, had left Beach City, that they had never known they lived so close to each other. She tried explaining that she wasn't much of a people person after the war, but she didn't have to. Buck understood all about closing himself off to people, it was just what war did to those few unlucky enough to survive. He mostly isolated himself to his closest friends, formerly known as the Cool Kids. That's how he ended up marrying Kiki Pizza in twenty twenty-five, and they'd been together ever since. He went back to playing music gigs, but he was really a stand-in for cover bands and doing some solo performances. Sadie Killer and the Suspects was no more, for Sadie "Killer" Miller died in the early days of the Gem War. There were more losses of course, but the two had no desire to delve too deep into that. They talked about surface things for a while, but she had a mission. She needed to get Buck to talk, to really talk about things. He was in a hospice for a reason.

"So why are you here, Buck?" she asked. "What brings you to Falling Star?"

The tone of the room shifted into a more uncomfortable setting. Buck cleared his throat uneasily. "Connie...I'm not proud that I'm here. I don't want you to—"

"Buck, listen to me." She took his hand in hers to offer her comfort and support. "You have to talk about this. There's no judgement here, I promise. Only love. I'm here for you, but you have to talk about these things. You'll never get through it if you hold it in for so long." As much as she truly cared for Buck and wanted him to get better, her words sounded like they were her attempt of telling herself that she needed help, even if she didn't want it. "Talk to me."

Buck, clearly in a state of defensive disarray, took a deep breath and began his tale with a question.

"Do you have nightmares?"

She nodded. "Nearly every night. Daymares, too. Sometimes I'm awake and fine, then I'm back, fighting some enemy Gem I can't beat, people dying all around me. It's like reliving them."

"I know the feeling, it's the same for me too. Well they got worse over the years. I'd be just vibing with my friends or family, eating dinner with them or just spending time, and then something takes me back. A shout, a scream, a loud bang, whatever, and I'm ducking for cover. I'm a bit irritable, too. My temper isn't what it used to be. I'm just...not the same." He continued after seeing her give him an assuring nod. "My wife, Kiki, was the most supportive person in my life. If I shouted or snapped off at her, even when I would go to apologize, she'd just blow it off cause she knew how messed up I was in the head. She never held it against me, she'd always say "through sickness and through heal, Bucky D, I'm here for you." She was just...there."

"That sounds like Kiki to me," she said. "At least, from how Steven described her."

"Yeah, that's my Kiki," Buck went on. That was the part when his cool demeanor and smooth voice started to falter. "One time, she was bothering me about something—there was a spider in her room, and she's deathly afraid of spiders, I guess—and I was in the middle of one of my daymares, but she didn't know. She was shaking my shoulder, and it just scared me senseless. It took me to a time when this one Quartz brute was trying to throttle me...and just like before, I punched the ever-living shit out of her right in the face. Only it wasn't a Quartz, it was Kiki." He let go of her hand and wiped at his eye, as tears had begun to well.

"She didn't yell. She didn't even cry, she just looked at me from the floor with this look in her eyes; it was fear. It went away when she saw the horrific look I must've had, and you know what she said? She got to her feet and was profusely—I mean profusely—telling me that she was fine, that she knew it was a mistake, that I didn't mean it. "We'll get through this together, babe, I love you," but I wasn't hearing it. I was too busy paying attention to the purple mark around her eye, and I knew that was it. I couldn't stay there anymore, I just couldn't. Not if it meant hurting my wife again, even on accident." The tears kept coming, she could tell that he was about to explode.

"Connie...I hit my wife. I hit the woman I love, I hurt her...I didn't mean to...I promise I didn't mean to…"

She brought him into another hug. "Hey hey, it's okay, Buck. It's okay," she said, giving him a comforting few rubs on his back for good measure. "Let it all out."

And that was that. He cried into her shoulder, she held him and went silent as the low sobs of Buck Dewey filled the room. They were there for what seemed like an eternity, and while she comforted Buck, she couldn't help but think about her current situation with Steven and the Gems. She truly had no one to talk to in the entire time since they left, there was no one else she trusted to talk to. Talking to Buck was different of course, shared trauma in combat was its own kind of thing. If she hadn't kept herself away from the public, she'd only be able to talk to those who experienced the same horrors she had. There was a connection between her and any other person who endured the war, as veterans of any way had, but another thing an old warhorse like her was privy to was that getting close to someone wasn't something afforded to her. Getting attached to another human being and having them gunned down or ripped apart right before your eyes had a lasting effect on you that translated in the days following war as that of a loner to all, with the only real company are the others who fought your war with you, and your inner demons.

Buck was no different. Even with what few friends he still had, there was still a sense of security in being alone, which is exactly what he did after hitting his wife. Being alone wasn't a desire by any means; it was the only way to live. The only way to survive. There was no other way for a warhorse like them, and if there was, she couldn't find it. Without ever having to ask, she knew that Buck would have difficulty forming close bonds with anyone new for the rest of his days.

"I'm sorry," Buck said after his meltdown, tearing himself from her shoulder and furiously wiping at his eye. "I shouldn't have dumped all that on you."

"Buck Dewey, you listen to me," she demanded, almost with anger. "Don't you ever apologize for being honest. I get that it's hard talking to someone, but I'm not some random stranger on the street. If anyone is gonna understand what you're going through, it's me."

"Connie...thank you. I...I really appreciate you listening to me."

She gave him another pat. "I work here, now. I'll be checking up on ya from time to time. Just gotta make sure you don't lose another eye."

Buck let out a silky laugh. "I don't see that happening anytime soon, so you're good."

"Good, cause I don't want to make you another eyepatch for you. Stitching that damn star on it took forever."

She got up to leave, and as she started to open the door, she turned back.

"Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Sola fide."

Buck nodded with a weary but sincere smile. "Sola fide."

"What does sola fide mean?" Greg called out from where he sat.

She was training, as she did from time to time, when she was tired of reading or cleaning around the house. Her body was slick with sweat and her heart was pounding, but she was focused entirely on her opponents. She didn't give Greg an answer.

She wasn't quite human anymore, not at least, how she used to be. After fusing with Steven as many times as they during, before the war and during, she picked up on a couple...upgrades. Like for instance, she somehow had access to Rose's room in the temple, where Steven had taken her years ago to give one of her favorite books a new ending. Back then, Steven was the only one who could unlock the door with his gem, but now she could do it on her own. As long as she wore the special necklace she currently kept in her duffel bag, that is.

"What is that language, spanish?" Greg asked.

"This

(Latin.)

isn't the time, Mr. Universe," She said as she eyed her training opponents. There were three Holo-Pearls before her each with the training settings set at ninety percent difficulty. Well within her capabilities, but this was just a warm-up.

"Come on," she taunted, gesturing to herself. "Come get it, blockheads."

One Holo-Pearl lunged at her, sword going for her midsection, but she jumped forward as well, chucked it's sword aside and slashed with a tight reach, cutting the Holo-Pearl in half before it disappeared in a POOF!

The other Holo-Pearls didn't seem to notice, their faces bore no emotion, no expression

(It's easy to fake being detached. It's harder to actually do it.)

even after seeing their comrade fall. Instead they chose to charge simultaneously with their blades high above their heads. It was futile. She sidestepped one and deflected an attack from the other. She took a jab at one, but had her own attack rebuked and then had to dodge as the other Holo-Pearl sliced at her. She rolled away and nearly had her head cut off after they double-teamed her. With a grunt, she pushed them both back and leapt between them while they were both stunned. She tried a forward cut to the one in front of her, but they recovered faster than she expected, and now she was fighting on two fronts, in front of her and behind her. She had to attack as well as defend, which would hinder most people in a fight. It was dangerous, risky, and was extremely difficult.

Unless you were her.

This is where she shined. She hacked at the one in front of her while bringing her sword behind her to deflect any incoming strikes from her rear, with surprising ease. She didn't falter in speed or strength, she simply split her brain right down her corpus callosum into two minds; attack and defend. Block and Counter. She was a well-oiled machine, a multiple trick pony, she could do it all. She blocked behind her, then ducked an attack from in front of her and delivered a swift kick to the chest of the Holo-Pearl before her and turned around to deal with the other one, and as she went on the offensive, returned to protecting her rear when her other opponent returned to combat, effectively changing her enemies' stances and flipped from between them. It was second nature, and it was good for studying the fighting styles and capabilities of real-life opponents she faces. Considering that these are merely Holo-Pearls, regardless of how high their difficulty setting was at, they fought in very basic styles. Even their advanced techniques weren't skilled in any way. Shame, if they only represented the true skill of Pearl, then they'd be more of a challenge. She missed Pearl.

During her battle on two fronts, she decided that this had gone on long enough. She waited for a moment for the Holo-Pearls to time their attacks at the same time. When they did, she kicked the one behind her back and lunged at the one in front of her, parried an attack, and cut the head off the Holo-Pearl. It vanished and when the other one charged back into the fight, without needing to look back, she brought her sword forward and stabbed backwards, right into its chest. Another flash of pink clouds and the fight was over.

"Woo-hoo!" Greg cheered from the sides, clapping his hands in support. "Good fight, Connie!"

"Thanks, Mr. Universe," she replied, giving a little bow to her one-man audience.

"What are you training for?" Greg asked as she made her way over to him. "Isn't the war over?"

She dug through her duffel bag and pulled out a bottle of water, twisted off the cap and took a generous gulp from it. "War's over," she answered, "but there's always a fight on the horizon."

"You really think there's gonna be another war?"

She nodded. "Maybe not between two different planets, no, but war is a guarantee. It's human nature."

Greg tilted his head to the side with concern. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know what I want." She had an idea.

Greg could tell. "I think you do, kiddo. Lay it on me."

She did some basic stretches and muscle memory exercises with her sword. "No thanks."

"You miss everyone. Don't you?" He was right on the nail. The voices in her head were getting more intimate. There was no point in lying to them, they always knew the answers. Even if she didn't know them herself.

"Of course I miss them," she replied, not faltering in her exercises. "They're the only family I have left. But things are different now. They're gone, and when Steven comes home and sees that his family isn't here anymore, he'll leave again. He has no reason to stay here."

"That doesn't sound like Steven to me," said Greg. "And what do you mean he has no reason to stay here? He has you to come home to."

She sped up the techniques she was repeating, she was getting frustrated at their conversation. "No he doesn't. He left me once already, and even if he wants to stay with me, I don't want him here."

Greg let out a nervous chuckle. "Uh, Connie? Isn't that what you want? For everyone to come home?"

"Yes. No. It's complicated."

"Connie."

With a groan, she sighed and turned to face him, sitting cross-legged on the pink clouds that made up the floor. He patted the ground next to him. "Pop a squat, kiddo."

She did as she was told, but she couldn't face him. "What?"

"Why aren't you being honest? You can talk to me about anything. Always."

She was doing her best to keep herself together without spilling her guts to him, but her mask was faltering. She took it slow. "They left me. Every single one of them. I can't forgive them for that. Never."

"And you're right for feeling that," Greg assured. "You were at your lowest after the war with everything going on, you were a mess."

(I still am.)

"And the minute Steven left, they became dicks—" she remembered who she was speaking to and corrected herself. "They became jerks and went on to live their own lives as if nothing happened. Something happened, Mr. Universe. An entire four years of our lives were taken away from us. I can't just pretend like everything's okay."

"You said you had to pretend about that? The war was hard on everyone, gems and people, everyone who was involved walked away different."

She huffed. "So what? Since everyone's going through the same things as me, my feelings don't matter?"

"Of course your feelings matter. Connie, war messes people up. It makes them do stupid things that hurt the ones they love, but that's what they think can help them. The gems didn't leave you because they didn't want to deal with you, they just...needed time to themselves for a while."

"A while," she spat. "Ten years, Mr. Universe. It's been ten years since I saw them. None of them came back once. They didn't even visit to see how I was doing. It feels like I was betrayed."

"They don't know that. They're so concerned with fixing themselves or trying to find something to live for that they can't focus on anything else. It's like trying to feed someone who's hungry when you're literally starving. They're just figuring things out, same as you. How can you expect them to worry about you if they can't get their own heads straight?"

She hated to admit it, but he was making a lot of sense. She didn't want to hear what he was saying though, as selfish as it was, she didn't care about their problems. She turned her heart away from whatever plights they had, just like they did to her. "We could have dealt with things together at least. And that's the gems, that's their thing. But Steven left me too."

She felt a hand on her shoulder. For the first time during her consultation, she turned and met Greg's eyes. They were warm and comforting, just like his smile, just like his touch. The Universes were good at putting you at ease with their presence. Despite this, somewhere in the very back of her mind, she knew that she wasn't getting those comforting feelings from the man she spoke to. She wasn't talking to Greg Universe. Greg Universe was a pile of bones pushing up daisies in a dirt hole on the property. She was talking to herself, a mere projection of herself that looked and sounded just like Greg. She wasn't even having an original conversation; she was basically recalling her own thoughts and feelings to herself. Part of her knew and didn't care, and the rest wasn't aware, but all in all, she was the only one around to keep herself company.

Except the nightmares. But they didn't count. Those weren't her.

"I can't tell you why Steven left," Greg said with a heavy sigh. "It could be a lot of different things, and when he gets here, that's something you need to confront him about. If something's wrong, Steven will be there for you, but you have to tell him the truth. Steven hurt you. It doesn't matter that he didn't mean to, cause he did anyway. Give him a chance. He deserves that as much."

She shrugged him off and turned away from him again, fearing of breaking down in front of him. "This is just like when he gave himself up to Homeworld that one time, right before the war. He's always...ugh, why is he like that? I hate it!"

For no reason other than being angry, she slashed at the air around her with her sword. It didn't make her feel better. In fact, it somehow made her weary. Probably the heart-to-heart she was having

(You're alone. You've always been alone, ever since you died in the Kindergarten.)

with her best friend's dead dad. It took a lot out of her to get as deep as she was with Greg, even though they were barely scratching the surface of her issues.

"Fine. I'll give him a chance. One chance."

"That's all I ask of you," Greg replied. "Thanks, kiddo."

"What about the gems?" she asked. She couldn't look at him just yet.

"What about them? They aren't in town anymore. God knows where they've gone."

"Well what am I supposed to do, let him come home to an empty house?"

Greg chuckled. "Can't do that either."

"Right."

Then an idea hit her. It was such a simple idea that she felt stupid for not thinking of it herself. She jumped to her feet with excitement coursing through her being.

"I know what I need to do!"

"That's great, Connie. Just make sure it works out, okay?"

"It will work, I promise." She started to turn to him. "Thanks, Mr.—"

But when she turned around, she found that, just like always, there was no one else in the room with her. She was alone.

Like always, she wasn't surprised.

She left Rose Quartz's room only to find Soren Spessartine standing in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said casually as she entered. "I was just waiting for you to—"

"We need to bring them back."

Soren was taken completely off-guard. "What?"

"We're bringing the gems home. All of them. And we need to do it fast, before Steven gets here."

Soren tried speaking, but was so taken aback by her sudden agenda that he was just sputtering out syllables without any actual words to be found, but she kept going.

"Listen. I don't like you, I never will, and you need to make peace with that." She took a breath. "But I need your help. I've wasted most of my life in this damned house, waiting around for someone to save me from myself, when this whole time I could've brought my family home at any point. I've been doing nothing to save this family for over ten years, but I'm doing something now." She took his hand and, feeling ashamed of her behavior later, pleaded to Soren, not holding back any of the desperation in her heart.

"Soren, please...please help me bring my family back."

The former Homeworld officer quietly processed her request, and after a few antagonizing moments, spoke.

"Look, I have no idea what mental state they're in. I don't even know where they are nowadays. It'll take a lot of time and we're going to need a lot of help, but…" He looked away from her at the empty household they stood in. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She nodded. "More than anything. Whatever it takes."

Soren returned the gesture. "Okay. I'll put word on the street if anyone knows where they went."

"Thank you, Soren," This house had been empty for too long. "It's time for the Crystal Gems to come home."

"You think it's gonna be that easy?" Soren asked.

She didn't care. She needed everyone back, she needed her reason for fighting across planets and countries and killing Diamonds to be with her. Without them, she'd fall deeper into oblivion and never see the light again. She didn't know how, but she knew one thing.

She wasn't going to be alone ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks! The story begins, and things will definitely pick up in pacing and intensity this next chapter. Be on the look out for updates, and I'll see you guys in the next one. Lazuli out!

**Author's Note:**

> There you go guys! Keep a look out for my next chapter coming soon! If there are ant questions or comments, send them my way. Lazuli out!


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